Where adjectives cling like thorned vinesalong weed-choked banksWhere adverbs form rock gardens, sinking prose in their hollowsWhere commas gather in the bends,claw-like strainers snaring the untrainedWhere stretches of boiling pontification,or fancy turns of phrase, swamp mindsWhere plump poetic pillows,or thoughtless critique, splinter fine craftWhere I fell in love with tones resonatingunderneath the surfaceWhere the play of light around recursive lines seduced meWhere the flow of words is my addiction,a bad-boy lover I can’t give up This post was written in response to this week’s Carry On Tuesday prompt and in response to dVerse Poets Open Mic Night. Click the links to see what others have written or to join the…